The Aftermath
by Loobylooxxx
Summary: The battle is over. The light has won. Supposedly the world should carry on with their lives. Yet the Boy who Lived is fast becoming the very thing he strived to destroy. Waking up in St. Mungo's, can anybody save him?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: All characters are owned by JKR, I take no credit or payment for any characters. The only thing that is exclusively mine is the plot. Most of this chapter is from the book, setting the scene, so no flames please, I know I didn't write it :) xx TTFN Loobylooxxx**

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an  
edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light  
hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's was suddenly a  
flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope  
to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between  
them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked  
the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort's green jet meet his  
own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning  
across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air  
toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it  
at last.

And Harry, with the unerring skill of a Seeker, caught the wand in his  
free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet  
eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his  
body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant  
and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and  
Harry stood with two wands in his hands, staring down at his enemy's shell.

As the Great Hall erupted around him in cheers and screams, a violent pulling motion jolted from the centre of Harry's chest, wrenching him in two. His screams were lost among the screams of the crowd as he crashed, face down onto the exposed earth in front of him, writhing and thrashing at the agony in his chest. Incapable of coherent thoughts, his body betrayed him by brushing against Voldemort's time and time again, until the pressure and pain in his chest became too great. Harry Potter's body finally gave up, and even as his eyes rolled back into his head, nobody noticed his lifeless body on the ground.


	2. The Last Time

Pale faced with sunken cheeks, Harry Potter was shown no attention, just as he had not been since the night of the battle. Instead he was waiting at the back of a very long queue of other injured people, regardless of the fact that he had conquered the greatest dark wizard of the modern world. From the average person's point of view, he looked as if daydreaming, but unknown to the world Harry Potters mind was violently buzzing with the implications of his most recent actions.

Since that night, his body tense even thinking about it, his life had spiralled out of his control. The pain he had to live with had never gone away; left as he was on the battle field he had to learn to deal with it himself. Despite all of the injuries, curses and attempts on his life over the years, he barely knew how to heal a simple cut, and had relied on Healers and friends to help him, yet no more was that an option. 'They were only there to help the war effort.' He told himself, 'Glad to help the Boy who Lived, but never the real person. Never the simple boy Harry, only Harry Potter.'

The doors at the end of the ward flew open and the sharp clicking of heels, and the shuffle of trainers approached the end of the queue. Harry ignored the sound, staring at the tiled floor, until he noticed the tips of the shoes were blocking his line of sight. Slowly he raised his eyes to glare defiantly at the couple that until recently he had called his best friends.

"Again Harry? We can't keep tracking you like this; you're not OUR priority now! I am 6 months PREGNANT! Do you want me to have a MISCARRIAGE?! Is that your game?!" Hermione stopped to catch her breath, hands wrapped protectively around her swollen stomach. Ron's hand snaked round her shoulders, whispering comforting words into her ear. As she began to relax, Ron looked up at Harry, a disappointed, yet so patronising, look upon his face.

"Come on, you can side-along with us." He grasped Harry's thin bony wrist, and steadied him as he staggered. He found his balance, and turned to get to the apparation point, yet found himself nose to nose with Hermione.

"We're not coming for you again. This is the last time. Do you understand? The. Last. Time." She spun on her heel and waddled briskly off, leaving Harry stood there for a few seconds with a nasty smirk on his face. He mastered his emotions quickly, leaving his face a blank cool mask, and followed Ron to the apparation point, before being grasped by Ron's arm, so muscled compared to his own, and disapparated.


	3. How Much Do You Need This?

'Finally' Harry muttered to himself as he stumbled out of the grate of the Black's fireplace onto his dirty kitchen floor. "I thought I could never get them to leave me alone...". Immediately, his eyes began to shoot rapidly from side to side, looking for the one thing that could satisfy his craving. He had had a sickening feeling in his stomach that there wouldn't be enough this time, especially not after the large amount he took this morning. Dry mouthed, he racked his memory for where he could have put it before he passed out.

Cursing under his breath, he began the monumental task of searching the kitchen floor for his relaxant. Due to the fact that he lived exclusively in the kitchen now there was rubbish piled high, with dirty clothes and broken glass in obscure places, along with flecks of bold scattered randomly over the floor. He pulled all of the covers off his makeshift bed, checking it was not misplaced down the side. He then began the task of picking up everything from the floor and replacing it on the bed, with the hope that he would find the object of his desire.

Twenty minutes later and the brunette was staring in horror at the small patch of damp at the edge of the sink. Water was steadily dripping onto it, yet that was not what was worrying Harry. The mass of white powder he craved so much was now a pale milky puddle on the floor. Desperate, he grabbed his dusty wand from the mantelpiece and attempted to rectify the problem.

"Sicarro" he chanted desperately, howling in despair when nothing happened. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid' he thought. He knew that it wouldn't work; it hadn't worked since that night… He would have to go out and get some more.

~.~

Harry marched down the dark alleyway, glancing around him, wary of the flickering shadows formed by the streetlamps above him. This was the third time he had come down this alleyway, yet he still got nervous and jumpy: whether this was part of his cravings was yet to be determined. He cursed himself internally, berating the fact that he was so reliant on this crutch, but no more inclined to turn around. As he reached his destination, he stopped, and took out his knife.

Hissing in pain, he swiftly drew the knife across his wrist, watching as the blood pooled in beads on his skin. He massaged it firmly until the trickle was a slow but steady flow. He steadied himself against the wall, his heart rate erratic, and slowly wiped his wrist across the one brick on the wall behind him that was blood stained and dark. As his blood touched the brick, a hand grabbed Harry's throat and pushed his against the wall, crushing his neck and halting his breathing.

"Back so soon?" a seductive voice hissed in his ear. "Were you that desperate to see me? I'm flattered..." Teeth nibbled down his ear as he breathed shallowly.

"You know what I need. Maybe some more this time, it will last longer."

The mouth at his ear laughed, "That is what you said last time is it not? Yet here you are back in a vampire's arms... I'm still quite full from last time; I don't think I want to feed again so soon... Maybe we should wait a week or so... You can survive until then, I'm sure."

Panic lashed through Harrys mind, a week was too long, he needed it now. He knew he had to keep the vampires attention to get what he needed.

"Are you sure?" he gasped as the sharp teeth moved down towards his neck, "Are you sure? If you don't want to feed we can do other things..." The suggestiveness he tried to convey was marred slightly by the panic he felt. He had sworn to himself that he would not whore himself out for this, that he was in control, and had expressed this to his blood sucking dealer, yet desperate times called for desperate measures he thought, trying to convince himself.

"My, my, you're not suggesting what I think you are, are you? I don't want you to forsake your morals for me..." As the vampire spoke his hands were firmly on Harry's shoulders, pushing him down until he was on his kneed before the undead man.

"I want a full bag this time, not a half" Harry mumbled as his hands shakily undid the belt and zipper of the man in front of him. The noise the zipper made grated on his ears, forcing him to accept that this was happening, this was his life now. He pulled down the trousers and was faced with a a stretched pair of boxers, tented with the vampires arousal.

Sensing the boy's discomfort, the vampire hissed: "How much do you want this? How much do you NEED this?" He lent back in satisfaction as the boy pulled his boxers away from his hard member and down around his ankles. "Pleasure me..."

Harry flinched as he leaned forward towards the hard cock in front of him. He took a deep breath, then engulfed the vampires manhood with his virgin mouth. The taste wasn't bad, he thought, as he whirled his tongue around the slit, then ran it along the sensitive vein on the underside of it. He got as much of it as he could in his mouth as possible, then swallowed hard as Ginny had done to him. But that was before... No, he would not think of it, he could not. It hurt too much...

He was brought back to the present by the gripping of his head by the vampire; "Too hard" he thought, and attempted to pull away. He was powerless against vampire strength, and the blood sucker started to fuck his mouth, hard, forcing his entire length into Harry's mouth. Choking, Harry tried to breath, but found that the dick was blocking his throat. Squirming wildly, he tried to catch his breath as the long cock slid in and out of his throat. He knew it would all be over soon by the tensing of the balls in front of him, and the shuddering moans that came from above. As the milky liquid exploded at the back of his throat, the vampire let out a guttural moan and pressed Harry against his body, before slowly pulling back and drawing his sinking penis away from Harry's mouth.

Harry pulled away from the vampire and began retching on the floor, not even looking up at the vampire he had just sucked off. As he managed to spit out the last of the vampires cum, the vampire tossed a bag of white powder on the ground beside him.

"Thank-you" he whispered, his throat sore from the vicious pounding it had just endured.

"No, thank-you, that was the best blowjob I have had in a long time. Your first?"

Harry nodded in assent, and the vampire chuckled softly. "You're a natural." And without another word, the vampire seemingly flowed into the shadows, and disappeared, leaving Harry alone in the alleyway, with the salty taste of cum in his mouth and his precious bag of coke.


	4. I Know Who You Are

For the first time since the day before, Harry was beginning to feel that sense of normality he craved: he no longer shook, his eyes no longer darted around the room, he wasn't hungry and he (finally) wasn't in pain. His bag of powder was abandoned on the filthy work surface with a short piece of straw next to it. The bag was nearly a quarter empty: it had been 15 minutes since he had staggered in from his encounter with his vampire.

Harry sighed and lay back on the floor, relishing the cool hard stability that the floor gave him, even though his head was swimmingly pleasantly. The mixture of the two sensations in his body at once gave him the impression he was floating, yet tethered to the ground by invisible ropes. His dilated pupils were hidden by dark eyelids which had taken on an almost bruised looking colour over the last three months. It was only during this time, that he allowed himself to think such thoughts, about his past, his present and his future: with white powder crusting around his nose and flowing through his veins, numbing the pain he would inevitably feel when it wore off.

Ginny... The memory was still fresh in his mind. She was the only person he had ever had "intimate relations" with, not counting Cho, he thought. Cho was but a teenage crush, nothing but a snivelling child, as he had been at that age, too wound up in emotions to focus on what mattered. He knew, logically, that he should apply the same thoughts to Ginny but found he could not. She had shown him things, opened his eyes to the ways of the world. Despite being younger than him, she was his mentor, the hand holding him and coaxing him to turn on the light, and see what could be done, what must be done to ensure his sanity.

Long hours spent together, the wild nights, Ginny's face screwed up in the throes of passion as he pleasured her: it was all spoilt, tainted. He had hung onto those memories for so long, memories of what used to be, and what he had at one point. He had destroyed that simple pleasure tonight: picturing Ginny as he had that blood sucking leech inside of him: all he could think of now was her, dirtied with thoughts of blood, pain and desperation. What did she think of when she thought of him? They hadn't seen each other now for well over two months. He doubted they would have met if that time was doubled again.

Despite the bliss he felt, his face screwed up in pain as he remembered her betrayal: the moans and squeaks of the bed above his head, his confusion and puzzled expression turning to pain and anger as he entered the room to find her locked in a passionate embrace with her old lover: Dean Thomas. As she had said that night: It was his fault, he had driven her too it, too cold, too uncaring, too broken. How could she love somebody like that? That was what had driven him to this: 'A half life, a cursed life, from the moment the coke entered his blood stream'. He smirked; comparing himself to Voldemort was not too far from the truth. His nose, well, he could see that it wasn't too far from his sworn enemies now, add that to his pale complexion and sunken cheekbones, all he needed was the glowing red eyes.

He sat up suddenly, his head spinning. Spots blurred his vision and he staggered as he attempted to get into a standing position. Eventually he clawed himself up using the work surface that was near to him for leverage. He clutched on the tables to steady himself as he neared the mirror that was on the wall. As he turned himself to look at his reflection a hysterical giggle burst out from between his cracked lips. His eyes kept contact with the mirror, but his haunted laughter continued to echo around the room.

'Oh the irony' he thought to himself 'The Dark Lord himself has returned.'

The laughing ceased as he edged closer and closer to the mirror. 'I know who you are' he hissed, nose to nose with his reflection. 'Let's get those red eyes back shall we?'

Never breaking eye contact with his reflection his hand shifted over the table behind him, searching, searching until he found what he thought he needed in his drug addled state. Approaching the mirror again, he picked up the blade and held it just above his eyelid. 'Red eyes indeed' he muttered as he dug the blade in. So intent on his task, he didn't notice the ebony coloured owl land on the open window frame, its eyes seeing all, and missing nothing.


	5. Lying Broken

The room in which the werewolf waited was small, dark and cramped. It had barely the space to fit the small table it contained; a few chairs scattered around its edges. The only source of light was the open window, which sent a small shaft of light onto the table. The werewolf watched the iridescent dust motes float through the patch of light, of course he could see them anyway with his enhanced vision, but the light made them sparkle in a way he was not used to. He stared at them for a long time, before getting up stiffly, and making his way to the window.

His face was haggard and worn, he had had, at one point, light sandy coloured hair, but now there was a great deal of grey scattered through it. At the moment his hands were working their way through it, whilst his face was creased with worry. He arranged himself on the window seat, and watched the bright summer's sky, watching and waiting for any spot of dark on the horizon.

This was where Molly Weasley found him several hours later, staring up at the darkening sky, waiting for the letter that had never been sent.

"Come and have some dinner Remus." The witch suggested, leaning forward to gently place a hand on the werewolf's arm. He started at the sound of her voice, and hugged his arms tighter around his body.

"We agreed three days. He _knows, _I told him, I ... I _said..." _Remus broke down into gut-wrenching sobs, his hands pushing into his eyes in an effort to get himself to stop.

Molly sighed, and moved forward, putting her arms around the crying werewolf, pulling him into her embrace. She rubbed his back soothingly, rocking him until he had calmed a little.

"Here," she said, passing him a tissue from her pocket. He took it obediently, and wiped his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I know it's stupid of me, I just... I just can't stop thinking that..." Remus looked away, his bright eyes filling with tears again. He roughly wiped his eyes with the damp tissue, angry that he, a fully grown man, was allowing a small witch to comfort him, even though she had her own worries to deal with. Molly's own hair was now laced with grey, and her face had a few more wrinkles than it had before Fred's death. He shifted his arms so he could return her hug, squeezing her gently.

She smiled at him, and gently removed herself from his arms. Taking hold of his hands, she looked him in the eyes: "If you are so worried you can use our Floo. If he is in _any_ danger, or injured you _know_ the wards will let you in." She smoothly pulled him to his feet, steadying him when he stumbled after being sat in the same position for a long time. Together they moved out of the tiny study of the Burrow, and moved towards the kitchen.

~.~

On the floor of the kitchen in Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter was lay on the floor. Next to him lay a nearly empty bag of cocaine, and a bloody razorblade. He had white powder dusting around his nose, and blood covered his face, running from the circular cuts around his eyes. His eyes were tinged red with the congealing blood that continued to drip from the self inflicted wounds, albeit more sluggishly than they had before. His face was covered in bruises, and his ankle was at an angle with his leg, the shards of bone piercing the skin in several places.

His clothes were ripped and he was lying in a pool of his own vomit, as well as shards of glass from the smashed mirror on the wall. There were also a few black feathers on the floor, as well as a few coating Harry, caught in his hair. He was not moving, and his breathing came shallowly, as his heart beat irregularly, trying to do its job, despite the chemicals moving around inside the blood stream.

It was then, when the fire place, below which the smashed mirror was, suddenly burst into life, despite the fact that there was no wood, or any form of ignition. It flickered for a few moments, then turned green and distorted as the shape of Remus Lupin's head appeared, blinking rapidly in an attempt to focus his eyes in the dark of the Grimmauld Place kitchen. All was silent, then there was the scream.


	6. Being Abandoned

Harry woke to pain. Too much pain, his coke must have worn off! He groaned as his eyes flickered open, clenching shut as his eyes burned from the bright lighting. He breathed shallowly, trying to counteract the lancing of pain through his body every time he even so much as twitched, as well as the burning, ripping pain that centred inside his chest.

That was the pain that was the hardest to deal with, the main reason he had fallen into this... whatever this was. He groaned softly as he attempted to sit up, rising a few inches, before flopping down back onto the bed in defeat. It was then that he registered that he was not at Grimmauld Place, the soft cushioning fabric beneath him, was nothing he owned.

Voices began muttering around him, each syllable grating in his ears, and pounding through his head, which was still fuzzy, although he suspected that this was not the usual type of fuzziness, that he was used to. Nevertheless, he attempted to focus in on what the voices were saying.

"...finally awake..."

"...muggle..."

"...organ failure..."

"...self-inflicted..."

"...coming round!..."

"...Harry? Can you..."

Harry attempted to open his eyes again, finding the light slightly more bearable this time. As his eyes focused, he became aware of a huddle around his head, too close for comfort, reminding him of his appalling lapse in self control. Whoring himself out, the one thing he swore he would never do. Still, the memory rose to the forefront of his mind, and he launched himself away from the crowding faces, pushing himself against the headboard of the bed, before he had realised what he was doing.

Once he came to his senses he became aware of the pain pulsing through his body, an all over ache, with sharp bursts of pain from certain places, his ankle, his face, especially around his eyes. Slowly looking up, he stared into the faces of the people who he once classed as his family: Ron and Hermione Weasley, Molly Weasley and Remus Lupin. All faces were etched with disappointment.

Harry slowly relaxed from the position he was in, untucking his swollen ankle from under him, and relaxing against the headboard, rather than pressing into it. Looking around he realised he was at the Burrow, lying on the bed that he used to sleep in, only a few short months ago. Glancing around, he attempted to speak, however only a rasping noise came from his mouth, causing him to wince and move an aching arm to his throat.

Molly passed him a glass of water silently, though Harry noticed that she took great came to ensure that her hand never touched his. She gave him a tight smile as he sipped at the water shakily, trying to ignore the pain coursing through his body. He tried again.

"What... what happened?" he got out, before coughing violently.

"What happened? What. Happened? Maybe YOU should tell US that you selfish, fucking PRICK!" Hermione had her face shoved up in his, anger making her face uncharacteristically ugly. "Go on! Tell us what you did to yourself!"

Harry flinched back pathetically on the bed, wincing as it aggravated the sore skin around his eyes.

"I... I... don't..."

"Of course you don't know! You never do! Too fucking drugged up on that SHIT! Can't get enough of the blasted stuff can you?! Don't care that it's killing you! I'm through with this; I'm through with you! I can't deal with patching you up every time you have another 'episode', it's killing me! My baby as well! I can't take it anymore!"

Hermione's voice lowered at this point and her expression softened.

"Look, I'm sorry Harry. Get clean and we'll talk again." And she turned and walked away out of the room, her husband following her with a quick glance behind at Harry, who lay in the bed, a sardonic smirk on his face, now the 'danger' had passed.

"Well that was unexpected." He said mockingly as he attempted to manoeuvre himself out of the bed and over to the fireplace, where he could see the Floo powder waiting for him.

"Where are you going?" He heard behind him, Remus sounding tense and worried.

"Home" Came the terse reply, as Harry staggered over to the fireplace, leaning on the mantle, before tossing a pinch of powder into the flames.

"No! Stay here, please! Just until you're well!"

But he was gone, whirling around in the green flames, leaving behind a horde of frustrated, angry, and very worried people.


End file.
